In Memory of Melanie
by eau-bleu
Summary: Draco and Hermione struggle with loss and learn to cherrish their life, their children and their growing family.


She stood in front of the French doors in our room. Looking out into the night like the sky's stars held the answers for her tired, worried and grief stricken mind. She slouched to the side allowing the frame of the doors to hold her up. I wished I could move; to go to her and comfort her. But at that moment I was too caught up in my own thoughts; grief, anger, and fear.

"What will we do now, Draco?" She said, sensing my presence.

"What we've always done. We'll dust ourselves off, gather those that we love close and we'll survive."

"I'm not sure I'm strong enough to do that this time." Her voice raspy from the uncontrolled screaming she'd done earlier.

"I know I'm not strong enough to do it without you," I said, finally finding the strength to cross the threshold of our bedroom. I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, lowering my head to give her temple a gentle but firm kiss of reassurance.

"Oh Draco, don't put the pressure of all this on me, I'm not strong enough this time."

"I'm not pressuring you. It is the truth. I am better and stronger with you in my life. I'll make it, if you're by my side. We must…We must, Hermione, stand together and reach for each other and keep each other close. This happened to us, to our family, and no one else. It is our loss to grieve. But we will survive. We will heal. I know it."

At that, her shoulders start to heave and the tears began to fall. The well of despair had been breached. I'd been waiting for her grief to surface. It had been two days, two long and exhausting days since we lost the second of our four children. Hermione had held her sorrow deep inside refusing to acknowledge it or let it meet the world, except for the screaming of 'No, no, no,' that rang through the house for hours yesterday.

When Melanie was born, she had a very weak heart and wasn't expected to live the first week. She had surprised us all. She not only lived but thrived, despite her delicate condition. She learned to crawl and walk and finally to run. She was smart and spunky and full of life. She was funny and cunning. She was beautiful. She had small features fixed on a heart shaped face, framed by dark curls. Her intense grey eyes would sparkle with mischief or delight. But despite being so full of life, she only lived to be four and a half years old. And contrary to her big personality, she had died quietly in her sleep.

It simply wasn't fair to be allowed to fall in love with such a precious being and then to have that being wrenched from your life. It just wasn't fair.

"We'll get through this, my love, we will." I squeezed her again and turned her from the doors into my chest. I pressed her head into my body, feeling her wrap her arms around my torso. I kissed her head and petted her hair and rubbed her back in soothing circles.

Into my chest she said, "I know, I should be grateful for having her as long as we did. But I still feel robbed and cheated. I still feel like her life was stolen from me."

"I know. I feel the same way, love. But you know what she would have said? She would have said, 'Mum, we are so lucky, we have each other!'"

"You're right, she would have said that and she would be so correct. We do have each other and we are so lucky to have had her, even though the time was so dear." And my Hermione continued to sob.

**Thirty Years Later**

She's standing at the French doors again. It's a habit she developed after we lost our daughter Melanie. I suspect she's worn a groove in the hardwood. Today is a bittersweet day as it would have been Melanie's thirty-fifth birthday.

Hermione and I weren't the only ones who grieved the loss of Melanie. Her older brother missed her tremendously too. For weeks after her death we'd find Maurice wandering the house and when he was asked, "What are you doing?" He'd reply, "Looking for my Melanie."

It was hard for a six year old to understand the concept of death; the permanency of our loss. For years he would ask about her, talk about her. We have Maurice to thank for keeping her alive for us. He wouldn't let us drown in our grief. He helped us celebrate her life through his shared memories of her.

Maurice loved his little sister so much that, much to the chagrin of his grandfather, he become a muggle doctor; a heart surgeon, in fact. He's also the last of our children to marry even though he's our eldest child. This was also a source of consternation for his grandfather. But no matter, two years ago he married his long time companion and fellow doctor, Tabitha Longbottom and today they have given us, his mum and da, a seventh grandchild – Melanie.

I'd like to be able to tell you that after the loss of Melanie, life was grand and without pain or loss, but that has not been the case. Several years ago Hermione's father, Michael Granger joined our Melanie. And my beautiful mother joined her granddaughter two years ago. Those were very difficult times for all of us. But we muddled through. Gratefully, we've had more joy than sorrow.

When we lost Melanie we had four children, Maurice, Melanie and the twins Vivienne and Claire. Seven months after Melanie's death we welcomed another son, Malcolm and two years later our last child Romeo, was born. Our home was, for the most part, full of the cries and laughter of our children and their friends. We have very little to be sad about and yet, in our hearts there remains a void. It will never go away.

I look at my beautiful wife. She's almost sixty years old now. Her beautiful walnut coloured tresses contain streaks of grey. She still wears it long, down the middle of her back. I'd be sorry if she ever cut it short. Her face is still very youthful with very few wrinkles, just some laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. Her eyes still twinkle with mischief and excitement. She's a work of art to me. She blessed this sorry excuse of a man with six children and grew and tended the Malfoy clan to near Weasley proportions. She is my rock, my anchor, my home port. I really can not live without her.

Like most nights, I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. Her middle is softer now, as is mine. She wraps her arms over mine and leans into my frame, letting her head rest in the crux of my shoulder. I place a kiss at the top of her head.

"Thank you," I say.

"For what?" She asks.

"For sticking by me. For being there, always. For being you. I love you Mrs. Malfoy. I have loved you for over forty years and gods willing I'll have you to hold and love for at least forty more. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful life, such wonderful children, such a wonderful family."

She turns into me, her arms around my waist and her head on my chest. "Don't thank me Draco. We did this together. We did it together, you and me. We didn't let our sorrow bury our family with her. We knew she'd want us to live on and stay together. We've honoured her memory by keeping ourselves intact. At least, that's the way I like to think of it."

"That's an excellent way to look at it Mrs. Malfoy," I agree. And like most nights we stare out the windows and up at the stars and think of the little girl we have loved and lost and the children we've raised; the love that fills our hearts and our home.

She gives me a squeeze and whispers, "I love you Mr. Malfoy, today, tomorrow and always."

My life is full and complete.


End file.
